and children into their camp?”
“I shall not ask them. I have a refuge in view for my family.”
“When will you go?”
“When you leave me. You will find the estate deserted this night, as you wish. The few negroes who are here will doubtless go with me; and we shall have crossed the river before morning.”
“You would not object,” said Jean, “to be joined on the road by some of our negro force; on my pledge, you understand, that they will not ravage the country.”
“Some too good for your present command?” said Toussaint, smiling. “I will command them on one other condition—that they will treat well any white who may happen to be with me.”
“I said nothing about your commanding them,” said Jean. “If I send men I shall send officers. But whites! what whites? Did you not say Bayou was on the sea?”
“I did; but there may be other whites whom I choose to protect, as you say you are doing. If, instead of hiding whites in the woods, I carry them across the frontier, what treatment may I expect for my party on the road?”
“I will go with you myself, and that is promising everything,” said Jean, making a virtue of what was before a strong inclination. “Set out in two hours from this time. I will put the command of the plain into Biasson’s hands, and make a camp near the Spanish lines. The posts in that direction are weak, and the whites panic-struck, if indeed they have not all fled to the fort. Well, well,” he continued, “keep to your time, and I will join you at the cross of the four roads, three miles south of Fort Dauphin. All will be safe that far, at least.”
“If not, we have some strong arms among us,” replied Toussaint. “I believe my girls (or one of them at least) would bear arms where my honour is at stake. So our king is a prisoner! and we are free! Such are the changes which Heaven sends!”
“Ay, how do you feel, now you are free?” said Jean. “Did you not put your horse to a gallop when you turned your back on your old master?”
“Not a word of that, Jean. Let us not think of ourselves. There is work to do for our king. He is our task-master now.”
“You are in a hurry for another master,” said Jean. “I am not tired of being my own master yet.”
“I wish you would make your people masters of themselves, Jean. They are not fit for power. Heaven take it from us, by putting all power into the hand of the king!”
“We meet by starlight,” said Jean. “I have the business of five thousand men to arrange first; so, more of the king another time.”
He leaped the nearest fence and was gone. Toussaint rose and walked away, with a countenance so serious, that Margot asked if there was bad news of Monsieur Bayou.
When the family understood that the Breda estate was to be attacked this night, there was no need to hasten their preparations for departure. In the midst of the hurry, Aimée consulted Isaac about an enterprise which had occurred to her, on her father’s behalf; and the result was, that they ventured up to the house, and as far as Monsieur Bayou’s book-shelves, to bring away the volumes they had been accustomed to see their father read. This thought entered Aimée’s mind when she saw him, busy as he was, carefully pocket the Epictetus he had been reading the night before. Monsieur Papalier was reading, while Thérèse was making packages of comforts for him. He observed the boy and girl, and when he found that the books they took were for their father, he muttered over the volume he held—
“Bayou was a fool to allow it. I always told him so. When our negroes get to read like so many gentlemen, no wonder the world is turned upside down.”
“Do your negroes read, Monsieur Papalier?” asked Isaac.
“No, indeed! not one of them.”
“Where are they all, then?”
Aimée put in her word.
“Why do they not take care of you, as father did of Monsieur Bayou?”
Chapter Four.
Whither Away?
Monsieur Papalier did not much relish the idea of roosting in a tree for the night; especially as, on coming down in the morning, there would be no friend or helper near, to care for or minister to him. Habitually and thoroughly as he despised the negroes, he preferred travelling in their company to hiding among the monkeys; and he therefore decided at once to do as Toussaint concluded he would—accompany him to the Spanish frontier.
The river Massacre, the boundary at the north between the French and Spanish portions of the island, was about thirty miles distant from Breda. These thirty miles must be traversed between sunset and sunrise. Three or four horses, and two mules which were left on the plantation, were sufficient for the conveyance of the women, boys, and girls; and Placide ran, of his own accord, to Monsieur Papalier’s deserted stables, and brought thence a saddled horse for the gentleman, who was less able than the women to walk thirty miles in the course of a tropical summer’s night.
“What will your Spanish friends think of our bringing so many women and children to their post?” said Papalier to Toussaint, as soon as they were on their way. “They will not think you worth having, with all the incumbrances you carry.”
“I shall carry none,” said Toussaint.
“What do you mean to do with your wife and children?”
“I shall put them in a safe place by the way. For your own sake, Monsieur Papalier, I must ask you what you mean to do in the Spanish post—republican as you are. You know the Spaniards are allies of the king of France.”
“They are allies of France, and will doubtless receive any honourable French gentleman,” said Papalier confidently, though Toussaint’s question only echoed a doubt which he had already spoken to himself. “You are acting so like a friend to me here, Toussaint, that I cannot suppose you will do me mischief there, by any idle tales about the past.”
“I will not; but I hear that the Marquis d’Hermona knows the politics of every gentleman in the colony. If there have been any tales abroad of speeches of yours against the king, or threats, or acts of rebellion, the Marquis d’Hermona knows them all.”
“I have taken less part in politics than most of my neighbours; and Hermona knows that, if he knows the rest. But what shall I do with Thérèse, if your women stop short on the way? Could you make room for her with them?”
“Not with them, but—”
“My good fellow, this is no time for fancies. I am sorry to see you set your girls above their condition and their neighbours. There is no harm about poor Thérèse. Indeed, she is very well educated; I have had her well taught; and they might learn many things from her, if you really wish them to be superior. She is not a bit the worse for being a favourite of mine; and it will be their turn soon to be somebody’s favourites, you know. And that before long, depend upon it,” he continued, turning on his saddle to look for Génifrède
